


Hanyou of the Opera

by Mishelledor23



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-21 22:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13750089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishelledor23/pseuds/Mishelledor23
Summary: Budding ballerina Kagome Higurashi becomes the object of obsession of the half-demon phantom that haunts the opera house.InuXKag, MirXSan





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! There will be a fic to come!!!


	2. The Opera Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miroku and Hachi's first day of owning the opera house is fraught with drama

The Opera Populaire overlooked the bustling streets of Paris. The sunlight glinted off the marble pillars, making the whole building appear to shine. A horse-drawn carriage pulled up and three men got out. One was portly and nervous looking, one was confident and suave and the last one was tall and boyishly handsome.

“Isn’t it beautiful Hachi?” Miroku said, taking a moment to appreciate the sight. There were plenty of beautiful buildings in Paris, but he had taken one look on the Opera Populaire and decided he had to have it. And now, he did.

“It is,” Hachi agreed, “I just hope we have better luck in the arts than we ever had in the junk business.”

“Scrap metal.” Miroku corrected tersely. He would not allow Hachi to ruin his good mood!

Miroku felt very small, standing at the bottom of the grand staircase. But it wasn’t a bad feeling, it was like looking at an ocean and marveling at its size. The statues were polished to gleaming perfection, not a speck of dust to be found anywhere. A spectacular stained-glass ceiling made the sunlight dance ever-shifting patterns on the floor. The majesty of the room was a strange backdrop for the large, bald and possibly intoxicated man that greeted them.

“Miroku, Hachi, Monsieur Vicomte, welcome.”

“Master Mushin!” Hachi bowed deeply. Pleasantries were exchanged, though if Miroku were being honest, this man should probably have retired years ago. He absolutely reeked of alcohol.

Mushin grunted and scratched at his red nose.

“You’re just in time for rehearsal. I’m sure you saw the poster.”

They had indeed; tonight’s production was a new work titled “Hannibal Comes”. The Opera Populaire prided itself on being the first to debut new works, but they only accepted the very best. Mushin explained on the way.

Hannibal was a majestic hero who traveled to India to free the slaves and earn the love of the beautiful princess. Not a very creative story, but Miroku had long felt that the story wasn’t really the point. That honour fell to creating a visual, and musical experience.

A woman awaited them backstage. She needed no introduction, her willowy beauty and regal way of standing told Miroku her profession.

“Lady Kikyo,” He said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, “It’s an honour to meet you.” Kikyo was famous throughout Paris. In her youth, she’d been one of the greatest ballerinas to ever grace the stage. But for unknown reasons, she had retired, choosing to train new dancers and choreograph the productions. She inclined her head politely, but she was entirely unfazed by his charm.

“We take great pride in our ballet,” She told him, guiding them to a spot where they could observe without being in the way. Hachi and the Vicomte trailed a few steps behind them, gazing rapturously at the dancers. There were approximately a dozen ballerinas in this particular scene, portraying scantily clad slave girls.

“I can see why,” Miroku assured her. He wasn’t just saying that because of the costumes, though they certainly didn’t hurt. His gaze fell on a girl with waist-length chestnut-brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes “Who is that exceptional beauty?”

“My shining star, Sango.”

“Sango,” Miroku murmured. Hachi nudged him in the ribs and he snapped out of his trance. “And that lovely girl?” He gestured to a ballerina with thick black hair and wide grey eyes.

“Kagome.” Kikyo answered, “My niece. Very promising talent.”

The song came to an end. Kikyo guided them towards the sounds of a very irritated diva. Dressed in an elaborate headdress and shimmering golden gown, she berated one of the mezzos for daring to step on her dress by mistake.

“Tsubaki,” Mushin said loudly, “Our leading soprano for five seasons.”

Tsubaki’s tirade abruptly halted and she put on her best, show-stopping smile, extending a graceful hand for each of the gentlemen to kiss in turn. She was lovely, Miroku had to admit, her haughty demeanour made her beauty pale in comparison to Sango’s. Mushin stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“Sorry for the interruption everyone, but I have an announcement to make. I know there have been rumours about my imminent retirement, and I’m here to tell you the rumours are true.” He paused a moment to allow the news to sink in. “I would like to introduce you to the two men that now own the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Hachiemon and Monsieur Miroku.” The cast and musicians applauded politely. Miroku caught Sango’s eye and resisted the urge to wink.

“And it is my pleasure to introduce our new patron, the Vicomte to Chagney”

“It’s Hojo.” Kagome whispered to Sango.

He’d grown in the nine years since they’d last seen each other, but his light brown hair, wide innocent eyes and happy smile hadn’t changed a bit.

“Before my mother died, you could say we were childhood sweethearts.” Sango smiled and squeezed Kagome’s hand.

“Handsome, isn’t he?” She teased. At a reproving look from Kikyo, the girls turned their attention back to their new patron.

“My family and I love to support all the arts, especially the world-famous Opera Populaire. I will see you tonight at the show.” He bowed and made his exit.

The moment he was out of earshot, Tsubaki’s smile vanished and she stormed up to Mushin.

“If the new managers are so excited by dancing girls, they can go to a ballet because I will not be singing!” She turned on her heel and strode towards her handmaids. The cast members shared looks of annoyance, one even finger-waved goodbye. Miroku and Hachi looked confusedly at Mushin who sighed and muttered,

“Grovel.”

Hachi hung back, letting Miroku take it from here. They were the perfect business partners; Hachi was the neurotic one that handled all the finances and details, Miroku was the charming one that got everyone to like him and support their ventures.

“My dear Tsubaki,” Miroku said, “we have the utmost appreciation for your talent, we merely didn’t wish to interrupt you while you were mid-song. In fact, I hear there is a lovely aria in act three, perhaps you could honour me with a performance? And may I say, you look absolutely stunning on the poster.”

Mushin snorted. The man learned fast. Tsubaki smiled and curtsied.

“If my manager commands.” She said sweetly.

The conductor and orchestra scrambled to get prepared for the act three aria.

_“Think of me, think of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye! Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you’ll try!_

_When you find, that once again you long to take your heart back and be free”_

There was a loud crack and a heavy beam fell from the ceiling, bringing one of the backdrops down with it, narrowly missing Tsubaki’s head.  The actors scattered and one of the ballerinas screamed in fright. If not for the supporting cage under Tsubaki’s gown, the plank might have crushed her. She shouted and pounded the floor with her hands, demanding that they assist her.

“The phantom of the opera!” Kagome cried, hugging Sango in fright. Unseen, Kikyo slipped away, her keen eyes scanning the rafters above.

“Onigumo!” Mushin shouted, “What’s going on up there? Tell us!”

A scruffy man rushed to the wheel that controlled the backdrops, lifting it off the fallen soprano.

“It wasn’t me!” He protested, “I wasn’t at my post. It must have been a ghost.” The disgusted look on Mushin’s face told Miroku that if that was an attempt at humour, it wasn’t funny. He hurried to help Tsubaki to her feet. She fixed them in a glare that had Miroku picturing a bird of prey, complete with the ruffled feathers.

“Madam Tsubaki,” He said in a placating tone, “these things do happen,”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say.

“These things do happen?!” Tsubaki exclaimed, “Until you stop these things from happening, this thing, does not happen! Goodbye!”

She turned on her heel and stormed from the stage, followed by her handmaid. The leading baritone, whose name Miroku didn’t know gave them a despairing look.

“Amateurs.” He scoffed.

“Well gentlemen,” Mushin said, “Have fun. If you need me, I’ll be in Australia.” He followed after Tsubaki.

“Erm, she will be back, won’t she?” Hachi asked nervously. The cast didn’t seem surprised, perhaps this was a normal occurrence? The baritone graced them with a shrug, everyone else was whispering amongst themselves.

“I doubt it.” Kikyo said softly. She held out an envelope sealed with red wax, “I have a message for you from the opera ghost.” Miroku considered himself a patient man, but he had just about reached his limit.

“You are all obsessed!” he exclaimed. Kikyo’s lips twitched as though she was trying to contain a knowing smile.

“He welcomes you to his opera house,” She paused, waiting for the new owners to express their indignance before continuing, “Asks you to continue leaving box five empty for his use, and reminds you that his salary is due.”

“His salary?” Hachi asked incredulously. Kikyo nodded,

“Monsieur Mushin used to give him twenty-thousand francs a month. Perhaps with our new patron you can afford more?” Her lips twitched again when Hachi’s eyes seemed ready to pop out of his head.

“We have lost our star!” Miroku snapped, tearing the letter into small pieces, “If he wants his salary so badly, he’ll have to wait. We will have to refund a full house!”

“Perhaps not,” Kikyo replied, “Come here Kagome.” The raven-haired ballerina from earlier approached shyly. Kikyo gently rested her hand on her shoulder and gave a reassuring smile. “The aria from act three, please.”

Hachi and Miroku were too stunned to argue. Was Kikyo insane? A chorus-girl, a _dancer,_ replace the famous La Tsubaki? Kagome took a breath and the voice of an angel reached Miroku’s ears.

* * *

 

Hundreds of well-dressed guests gazed at the lovely girl on stage, enraptured by her gentle, yet powerful voice. Dressed in a shimmering white gown, with glittering starbursts in her hair, Kagome sang of a girl thinking fondly of her past love, beseeching him to remember her from time to time. From his seat in box five, Hojo straightened up, certain he was hallucinating.

“Kagome,” he whispered, “Can it be?”

_It’s been so long, she’s probably forgotten all about me. But I could never forget her._

The sound of her voice awakened a fluttering in his heart.

Unbeknownst to him, Kagome’s voice reached far beyond the confines of the theatre. Beneath them, a figure stirred.

Perhaps she was finally ready.

* * *

 


	3. Angel of Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kagome and Hojo are reunited, Sango worries for Kagome

“Kagome?” Sango’s soft voice reverberated off the stone walls. She’d always found it ironic that this place, meant as a refuge where people could seek comfort and honour their loved ones was hidden away in such a damp, dark cove beneath the opera house. Kagome was still in her sparkling gown from act three, gazing at the mosaic of an angel overlooking the candles. Sango knelt beside her friend.

“There you are, everyone is looking for you! You were amazing tonight, really!”

Kagome smiled back,

“Thank you. If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell?” Sango cocked her head to the side. Despite her appearance, Sango wasn’t at all the meek, fragile thing she often portrayed on stage. Kagome wasn’t sure she would have ever made it through the pain of losing her mother without Sango’s gentle strength keeping her together.

“Of course, who would I tell?” Sango teased. As one of Kikyo’s favoured, Sango wasn’t too popular with the rest of the ballerinas. Kagome’s arrival had been a welcome change and the two had been inseparable ever since.

“When my mother lay dying, she said when she was in heaven, she would send the angel of music to me. Sango, it happened!” Kagome’s voice was breathy and exhilarated, “I have been visited by the angel of music!”

“What do you mean by that?” Sango asked. She’d never accuse Kagome of lying, but she wasn’t what you’d call a believer. You lived life the best you could and when it was over, that was it.

“When I came down here alone, to light a candle for my mother I’d hear a voice. He’s always with me, during rehearsals, in my dreams. Sango, he taught me to sing!”

Sango took a breath and exhaled, choosing her words carefully. Kagome had confided in her and she didn’t wish to ruin that. But she was spooked. Kagome truly believed what she was saying, but Sango knew stories like this simply couldn’t come true.

“Kagome, I don’t know if it’s an angel or not, but please come upstairs with me.” Speaking as one would to a timid animal, Sango took Kagome’s hand and helped her to her feet, guiding her back to the stairs.

Life at the opera house was intensive, and Kagome had been young when she lost her family. Perhaps this was a coping technique taken too far. In any case, she needed to take her corset off, have something to eat and get some rest. Kagome went along willingly, but there was still a faraway look in her eye, as though she was listening to something Sango could not hear.

* * *

 

Kagome had just finished tying her ivory satin robe when she heard a polite knock at the door. Her face split into a wide smile and warmth rushed to her cheeks upon seeing the face of her visitor.

“Hojo!” She exclaimed happily. Her old friend was dressed in his finest tuxedo, with his light brown hair tied back in a low ponytail. He’d become rather handsome!

“I didn’t think you would recognize me,” Hojo admitted shyly, rubbing the back of his neck, “These are for you.” He presented her with a large, and rather elaborate bouquet of pink and white roses. Blushing, Kagome took the flowers and inhaled deeply, filling her nose with the sweet scent.

“They’re beautiful,” she said, placing them carefully on the counter of her vanity.

“Not as beautiful as you are,” Hojo blurted out, “You sang like an angel tonight. Will you allow me to take you to dinner?”

Kagome’s smile faded, and she shook her head regretfully.

“I’m sorry Hojo, my tutor is very strict. I am not to leave my quarters after a performance.”

Hojo was far too elated by the prospect of getting reacquainted with his childhood sweetheart to be deterred by her words.

“Surely, he can make an exception for tonight, it’s a special occasion! I’ll order my carriage, be ready in five minutes!” cheerfully deaf to Kagome’s protests, he exited her room and closed the door behind him.

Kagome looked around at the lit candles and dozens of bouquets she’d received for tonight’s performance. She almost dared to think that perhaps, she’d received more praise for her debut than Tsubaki did for her performances. Truth be told, Kagome didn’t care for the woman. Her voice was good, yes, but not good enough to justify her volatile temper and overblown ego. But that was just her opinion, not that she’d ever voice it to anyone but Sango. Chorus girls didn’t get to have opinions. Chorus girls weren’t meant to stand out.

 Sitting before her vanity, she opened the drawer and took out the rose he had left her. Deep red, adorned with a black satin bow. Kagome gently stroked the velvety petals, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. She hardly recognized her own face. Even with her stage makeup gone, she still felt different, like she had grown somehow. Blossomed even.

Setting the rose down, Kagome murmured her plea to the angel of music.

“My angel, I beg of you to allow me to go to dinner with Hojo. He’s my old childhood friend and a good man. I won’t be gone long, and I swear to practice even harder to make up for the lost time.”

At that moment, all the candles in her room went out, plunging her room into darkness. Kagome stood, looking around nervously. There were no windows, where could such a draft have come from? She felt a prickling on the back of her neck, the familiar sensation of being watched. Instinctively, she reached for the door knob.

“Insolent boy, this slave of fashion! Basking in your glory! Ignorant fool, how dare he try to share my triumph?”

The voice shook Kagome to her core. His constant presence had become a source of comfort to her, his whispers always in the back of her mind. Never had he sounded so…forceful. Clasping her hands, Kagome sang quietly.

“Angel I hear you, speak! I Listen. Stay by my side, guide me! May I see you at last?”

“Kagome, beautiful Kagome,” his voice had returned to the gentle caress it normally was, “you shall know me, if that is your wish. Look in the mirror.”

Fighting to control her racing heart, Kagome’s gaze fell on her full-length mirror. A figure slowly came into view. Taller than her, he was dressed all in black. Silver hair hung to his waist and half of his face was concealed by a white mask. The one eye she could see was brilliant amber, shining in the dark.

“I am your angel of music, come to me,” He reached out his hand.

All other thoughts fled Kagome’s mind. All that remained was this man. Her unearthly tutor. Her angel of music.

His gaze was hypnotic, she couldn’t look away.

His hand closed around hers and he began to guide her into the depths of the opera house, leaving everything behind.

* * *

 


	4. The Phantom of the Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kagome is seduced by her mysterious teacher, Sango worries for her missing friend

* * *

 

Kagome felt as though she was being pulled along by invisible puppet strings. The only thing that kept her from walking on air was the gloved hand entwined with hers.

At long last, it was happening. For years, he’d sang to her in her sleep, featured first and foremost in her dreams. Yet she’d never seen his face, never known his name.

All around them, brass arms held flaming torches to light their way. The gently swaying light illuminated her mysterious guide’s golden eye. They came to a winding staircase leading them in to the depth of the opera house. It was world she’d never imagined existed, yet always right beneath her feet.

Kagome glanced over her shoulder, vaguely wondering to herself just how far down they’d come. The phantom gently touched her cheek, guiding her gaze back to him.

“Come my Kagome, don’t look back.”

A boat awaited them in a river at the bottom of the stairs. The boat itself was polished mahogany, lined with deep red cushions. Dimly, Kagome registered that they were likely in the sewers, but how could that be? A sewer would be dark, damp and so smelly it would make your head spin. This was otherworldly. Beautifully carved statues held up the ceiling above them. Torches and candelabras bathed the chamber in warmth and light.

Smoothly making their way through the gently winding tunnel, Kagome didn’t dare blink and risk missing a single moment of this place.

“Sing for me,” her guide commanded softly. An iron gate lifted, revealing a cove of candles, mirrors partially obscured by heavy velvet curtains and a beautiful, intricately decorated organ. Mist danced on the surface of the water. A heady fragrance of incense filled her nose.

Her voice reverberated off the walls in a way that sent a tingle down her spine. She kept singing, higher and higher towards a climax. More than anything in the world, she wanted to please him. They stopped. For a moment, he closed his eyes and listened to the final echoes of Kagome’s last and highest note bouncing off the rough stone walls.

“Welcome,” he said, “to my domain. Music is…my passion. My life. But since the moment I first heard you sing, I’ve realized that without you, I am incomplete.”

Kagome inhaled sharply. He’d become like a second shadow to her. The idea of life without him…it was too much to bear. Extending his hand to her, he helped her out of the boat and onto the land. The stone was sharp and cold against her stockinged feet, but she felt no fear of falling.

All around her, every form of art was honored in some form. Statues and smaller figurines, all clearly carved by a masterful hand. Piled neatly on a smooth wooden table lay the scores of symphonies, arias, even full operas, each carefully concealed in a black leather case with the title embossed in gold. To her right, she saw a perfect recreation of her shining moment on stage just hours earlier. Paintings of ink and watercolour adorned the walls. Some were more minimal than the others, yet Kagome recognized herself in every one of them.

“You belong with me,” he crooned to her, leading her up the steps to the pinnacle of his realm. “Light blinds you. In darkness, every sensation is heightened. Every sound resonates in your soul. Kagome, close your eyes.”

She did. He moved silently, positioning himself behind her. When he sang, his lips brushed against the silky skin of her neck, making her pulse quicken. One hand rested on her stomach, pressing her flush against him. The other stroked tenderly down her thigh.

“Give into it Kagome,” he urged, “Touch me, trust me. Let yourself feel _everything_.  Every fantasy, every desire.”

Kagome let out a sigh of pleasure, overwhelmed by their closeness. She could feel his strength, but his touch was gentle. She reached out to brush her fingers against his cheek. His skin was warm, roughened slightly by the beginnings of evening stubble. He swallowed audibly when her hand toyed with his silver hair and brushed accidentally against his neck. Emboldened, she turned around so they were face to face.

Most of the men she’d come across in her life believed very strongly that to be a man, meant to be strong and silent. To never let on when they were experiencing emotion for fear of appearing weak. When she looked at him fully for the first time, what she saw was unguarded emotion.

His very soul was bare for her to see. His breathing was shallow, and his intense gaze never left hers. Could it be that he felt the same nervousness and exhilaration that she did? Everything in this cave, everything she could lay her eyes and hands on, all created by him. Created by him…for her?

She suddenly felt very dizzy. The heavily perfumed air made spots flash before her eyes and her legs gave out from under her. On the brink of unconsciousness, Kagome felt him catch her before she hit the ground. He carried her to a bed in the shape of a peacock, surrounded by gossamer curtains. The last thing Kagome felt before she drifted off to sleep was the whisper of his hand against her face.

* * *

 

Sango pushed open the door to Kagome’s chamber. She hadn’t been worried at first, Kagome rarely attended the after-show gatherings. Alright, parties, but gathering sounded more well-behaved. Then the new patron, the handsome young man named Hojo had come searching for Kagome. Most of the cast and crew had politely told him they didn’t have any idea and gone right back to their drinking. But Sango had sensed that something was wrong and asked why he was looking for her. He’d explained that they’d had plans to go for supper and get reacquainted after years of separation. He’d recognized her after all and he knew the same thing Sango did; Kagome was not the type to stand someone up. Especially not a beloved childhood friend.

Something was very wrong.

Kagome’s room was in complete darkness. This was very strange, there was always at least one torch or candle lit even at night. The only light came through the window from the full moon outside. The moon’s beams brightened, glinting off the full-length mirror. Sango squinted. The mirror didn’t look right.

Carefully weaving through the sea of flower bouquets, Sango reached to touch the mirror. There was a gap between the glass and the frame. She ran her fingers over the glass edge and felt it quiver under her touch. An experimental push told her the mirror was a sliding door. But a sliding door to where?

She peered inside, but there wasn’t a glimmer of light to see by. A musty scent reached her noise and she heard the faint sounds of scurrying rats and dripping water. She shuddered. Sango didn’t like to admit it, but she _really_ hated rats,

Still, if that was where her friend had gone…she felt fingers close around her wrist and she let out a shriek of surprise.

“Lady Kikyo!” Sango cried. The ballet mistress’s face was stern. She firmly slid the mirror back into place and led Sango from the room. From Kagome’s dressing room back to the party, Kikyo didn’t utter single word, despite Sango’s questions and protests.

Inside, Onigumo was “entertaining” them with tales of the opera ghost, growling and ogling the women closest to him.

“Like yellow parchment is his skin! A great black hole serves as the nose that never grew!” He leered at a ballerina named Ayame who wrinkled her nose in disgust. He dramatically dropped his cloak from his shoulders and looked around, reveling in the baited breath of his audience.

“You must be always on your guard.” He drew a length of rope, tied like a noose. “For if you don’t, he will catch you with his magical lasso” He wrapped the rope around Ayame’s neck and growled mockingly at her. Kikyo strode forward, snatching the rope from Onigumo’s hands. Sango followed close behind, taking putting a comforting arm around Ayame’s shoulders.

Onigumo was distasteful fellow, to put it lightly. He was known for his numerous peepholes throughout the opera house, solely to see the ballerinas and female vocalists at their most vulnerable. They were told to ignore him. Sango quickly found out why; Onigumo particularly loved feisty women. Meaning, he liked the challenge of taming them.

Kikyo drew herself up to her full height, warm cinnamon eyes meeting muddy brown. For some reason, she was the only woman Onigumo didn’t dare trifle with.

“Those who speak of what they know, find too late that silence is wise.” Kikyo murmured. The cast and crew had gone so silent, her words rang as strongly as if she’d shouted them. A few people gasped in surprise when Kikyo backhanded Onigumo in the face without a single change in her calm demeanour.

“Hold your tongue Onigumo,” she purred dangerously, “And keep your hand at the level of your eyes.”

TBC

* * *

 


End file.
